Waiting for the door to open, having lost the desire to go through

I’ve talked about big things
Past things
Love things
I’ve talked about social things
Emotional things
Psychological things
I’ve talked about the inner workings of my soul
About music
About poets
I’ve written erotica
One off spy stories
I’ve turned a one off erotica story into a fool blown series with characters and plot
I’ve written, performed, recorded, and edited a serial novelization told in 3 voices and perspectives which span numerous hours and which took an hour of editing per 5 minutes of audio.
Then I did that 2 more times

But now I’m having trouble finding words
But really it’s finding time
Time to sit and be without worry weighing me down
Without concern for finances which never consumed me before
I’ve been lucky enough to have a place to land
I’ve been lucky enough to have freedom enough to be able to write
Even though that’s not how I make money
I dislike having lost that
But I’ve traveled the road of preservation of past instead of future
And that is always filled with painful regrets
Paths cut before completion
It’s like there is a membrane where before was a open door
Writing still exists on the other side
Just now it’s an effort filled with stress and struggle to get there
Maybe it’s lack of sleep
Or maybe living unsettled like this is always a shatter away from failure
The thinner the margin the harder the fall
And at some point the fall seems inevitable

Dry river remembrance

I’m broke down tear streaked cold nosed sleep deprived humanity
In other words normal end of weekend depression
Having to go to work to earn that money to live another two weeks and spend enough to feel just a little bit in control of my pain addled life
Each day begging for an end only to stumble through my door and collapse into bed asleep
Waking up way too early
To roll the dice on forlorn hope
Fucked up that chance is the only solution that I can think of
Broken bone words splintered in forgiveness without the chance to heal
Slow decay
I’d give up I think
But I’d rather be if at all possible
In your arms

Anxiety scrambles for purchase

Sounds get stuck on my tongue
A few words waiting to be said
Waiting for some truth
As the stress mounts
Real sets in
Unsexiest of worries
About money reel and hopeful
What was can seldom be
Unless perfect storm and
Responsibility
All boats rise with prosperity
But so do they in calamity
And mindless ramblings for wars of desire combat against what’s possible
Until emergency depletes and scramble for purchase on dirt
Hard packed with indifference
Easy to live without the cost of living
Scramble for a place makes mock of all
Until only the memories stand sentinel
Around broken forms
Lifeless
After the fall

Top 5 things to do if money was not an issue

1 open a every day of the week private goth club, make it the anchor of every goth and industrial bands tour, open 24 hours a day

2. Open a dungeon and a members only dungeon. Invite Dom’s and Sub’s in for demonstrations and classes. 

3. Buy a radio station, staff it with the Cemetery Confessions people

4. Start a defense contractor business (thought it was gonna be all goth stuff, didn’t you)

5. Buy a few elections

This is all stuff I want, sure there are other things that I would do but they are boring and so standard they are not worth mentioning.